


A Quiet Morning

by Starrcrossrose



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Breakfast, Coffee, Early Mornings, Fanfic, One Shot, Short, Vegebul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 14:09:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrcrossrose/pseuds/Starrcrossrose
Summary: Vegeta and Bulma have breakfast together. They talk about Earth and about Planet Vegeta





	A Quiet Morning

He never knew he needed someone like her so badly. Had never relied on anyone or anything in his entire life. It made him feel so pathetically weak, but also calmer than he had ever been. Sometimes, when he looked in the mirror, he didn't know who he was. But, that feeling was less frequent every day, especially on days like today.

Bulma was currently making them breakfast, Vegeta sitting at a table in a small room adjacent, a window on each of the three walls and allowing multiple views to the outside. He liked how blue the sky was here, how green and soft the grass against the silver-white of the small lakes in the backyard. Earth was so quiet, for the most part, and also quite peaceful. He had never known calm like this. Sometimes it made him feel a final sense of security, but other days it set him on edge. He hadn't been living here long compared to the rest of his life; about 7 years now. He even had a son. A half-breed, sure, but his son, nonetheless. Everyday was more obvious of that fact by how strong Trunks was, how fast he learned to fight and fly and control his ki. He was bright, his brains sharp like his mother, but pride strong like his father. He would get himself into loads of trouble when he was older, no doubt, but not enough to hurt anybody. Vegeta felt a strange sense of pride in how much he reminded him of himself when he was a young boy. At least, what he could’ve been, had he not had to fight for his life since the age of five. 

With a grunt to no one in particular, Vegeta propped his chin in a hand and continued to stare out the windows, his nose tracking the process of breakfast while his senses checked the low, warm ki of Bulma and strong, bright energy of Trunks.

He worried about them. He would never admit it, not aloud, but he did to himself all the time. He worried he wasn't doing enough, but didn't know what he was supposed to do. He worried he wasn't strong enough to protect them, both from outside enemies and himself. He worried they would one day reject him, even after all these years of living together, all his attempts to better himself. Afraid they wouldn’t see how he was feeling less and less like killing for sport, to release his rage and hatred, every single day that passed. 

Bulma told him once that he had probably killed not because he enjoyed it, but because it was a way to cope with the violence he had been raised under. That he wasn't a bad man, a monster, a killer. He was simply broken in places and, with time, he would mend. When she first told him this, he had been so angry, so embarrassed, that he had gone off to blow up some large rocks for several hours before returning, filthy and exhausted. She had been mad at him that day, but he had seen the worry in her eyes, the fear that she had scared him off. Even to this day, even with having sired a son, he didn't understand what she saw in him. It baffled him that a woman as beautiful and smart and fierce as her would choose him over anyone else. Then again, maybe that's why she liked him. They were more alike than he had first realized. Both alone, so alone, but both too prideful to admit it aloud or seek out attention. The others didn't understand either of them, either of their circumstances or loneliness. In fact, Vegeta had been immensely surprised at the thanklessness of Bulma's friends as he watcher her inventions provide for them over and over again. Sure, they would say thank you, but their actions always seemed to brush her aside. She was a resource to them, a tool, and it had put a bitter taste in his mouth when he had first noticed it. Even he had done do at first, thinking he had no need to thank anyone when everyone hated him so much. But, upon seeing her friends, who she talked to fondly of, dismissing her smarts had made him strangely angry. 

As he thought this, Bulma approached, two large plates in hand but only one of them loaded with copious amounts of food. He reached for the bigger plate, taking it from her with a silent nod of thanks before beginning to eat. She set her plate across from him before popping back into the kitchen for their coffee. Vegeta hadnt liked it at first, had thought it far too bitter, but liked it more when there was a splash of sweentened cream. Had even come to look forward to drinking it most mornings. When Bulma came back and handed him his coffee, she sat down and looked at him, blue-green hair tied up in a messy bun and blue eyes lined with weariness. She had worked another all-nighter, he knew it, but he also knew he couldn't pull her from her work when she was in this state. She was on the verge of creating something new, and once she was in that mode, she would notice hardly anything else. 

"What are you thinking about?" She smiled. That soft, warm smile that always felt different than the too bright, too cheerful one she always gave her friends. This smile felt more genuine. He used to hate how weak her smile made him feel. Now, he hated it far less; liked it, even. 

He hummed low in half-hearted annoyance, as if her question were silly. But, she waited, eating her food and sipping her coffee as she followed his gaze out the window. He didn't know why she wanted to know what he was thinking; she asked it all the time. He used to brush her off, tell her to leave him alone, but now he didn't mind telling her most days. Not always, not when he was feeling the old darkness at the edges of his vision, lacing his ki with fear and vengeance and confusion. He didn't want to hurt her, not at all, so he would ignore her on those days. Today, however, he felt peaceful, letting himself just be for once, and didn't mind talking.

"Thinking about Earth." He replied slowly, his voice gruff, but quiet. He knew Bulma liked when he spoke softly, felt he kind of liked it too because he wasn't having to yell or scream at his armies, his comrades, or himself. Earth was so different than anything he had ever known. 

"What about it?" She asked, her curiosity obvious in her grin, eyes still fixed out the window. 

"It's... well, it isn't so bad." He said, feeling himself flush a little at his openness, but knowing Bulma understood him. "In some ways, it reminds me of my own planet, but in other ways, it is it's own kind of..." He trailed off, not sure what word he was going to use.

"Beautiful?" Bulma suggested, her smile still warm as she turned to look at him. She watched as he shrugged, but she knew he meant yes. "You're right, it is. Though, I would love to see your home, Vegeta." 

He hummed again, but this time thoughtfully, almost wistfully as he dug into his food again. They ate in silence for a while, but Vegeta knew his woman. There were gears turning in her head, and he didn't know what ridiculous thing she would say next. But, he decided that if she wanted to say it, she would, and if she didn't, she wouldn't. They had grown to know one another well enough by now that reading the other's body language became easy. For instance, right now, he could almost taste an electricity surrounding her as she thought hard, thought about how she was going to speak if she did at all. And she, most likely, was trying to gauge if she should approach the topic any more than she already had. Vegeta was no longer the type to run away from her, no longer set to abandoning her when he didn’t understand the world or himself. He no longer had to return home to her pounding her incredibly weak fists against his chest as she cried, screaming that she had been worried sick when he left for weeks or months at a time. No, he was no longer a coward. But, still, they had been in enough arguments about certain things to know it was best to think before speaking. 

After all, they were both prideful and, where she was fiery, he was icy. It wasn’t always the best combination. 

Vegeta had begun to think she had given up on speaking, already nearly done with his stacked plate of food and cup of coffee, when she shifted in her seat. Her gaze found his and he was surprised to see how open and curious she was in that moment. She didn’t look at him that way often. Usually, Bulma gazed at him with confusion, bewilderment, like he was a puzzle she was trying to sort out. 

"What?" Vegeta questioned, finishing off his plate and stacking it neatly to the side as he sipped on the last of his cooling coffee. 

"Vegeta, I really want to know something. And if you don’t want to answer, that's fine. But, don't be angry, because this is in no way a jab."

He sighed, leaning his head back against the comfy, worn booth behind him, head tilting so he could look out the windows again. "When you put it like that, it makes me want to be angry automatically."

She scoffed, but he could tell it was only half-hearted. "Don't be a drama queen. Just... I'm gonna ask and you can react however you like then."

He nodded, waiting. When she spoke again, however, he found himself stiffening. "Why... why haven't you wished back your planet with the dragon balls? Your people, your culture...? I've wondered it before but it... never felt like the right time. It still doesn't but..." she faltered, and he found his head coming down to stare at her, nearly wide-eyed as she stumbled over herself.

Her question was slightly unexpected. At least, the phrasing of it. He thought she was going to ask him about his home, about his father, about his childhood. He had told her all be could bear to tell her already, wanting to shield her from the worst of it for some reason. But, this turn surprised him. Bulma's mouth kept opening and closing, so unsure, and eventually she shrank back a bit, hiding behind her coffee as she turned her body slightly to look into the yard. "Nevermind."

They were quiet for a few moments. He knew she must be taking his silence as frustration, anger, or rejection to her question. But, really, he was just surprised. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows setting onto the table as he clasped his hands together. Vegeta saw her stiffen slightly, but she didnt flinch. He remembered a time when any sudden movement from him made her jump, made her flinch. Sometimes even his slow movements, like walking slightly to close by her in the hallway or bumping into him in the kitchen on late nights when neither of them could sleep. Now, she never jumped, never scurried out if his way. She was the type who planted her feet, squared her shoulders and went nose to nose with him. Bulma was courageous, pushing herself to be unafraid even when he had threatened to kill them all when he defeated Kakarot. She had more guts than any soldier or elite he had ever met.

"Bulma," he said, voice surprising him with how gentle his tone was. She had that affect on him. "Look at me."

She did, slowly, eyes glittering with regret that she had said the wrong thing. And maybe, in another time, another year, it would've been. Before Majin Buu, definitely. But, he knew now how foolish, how childish he had been. He never wanted Bulma to be afraid of him, even when he was being an unbearable ass. 

"You're not mad?" She muttered, forcing herself to place a mask of indifference over her worry. He was proud how well she had picked that up from him; it would help her a lot in the future.

"No." He shook his head slightly. "You just surprised me.” 

“Oh,” she breathed, tension leaving her shoulders. She had honestly been so worried that she had offended him somehow. It had been so long since they had talked about his past at all, talked about anything deeper than day to day life. Surface level. A lot of times it was all Bulma could handle. She still had nightmares of when Vegeta had died. She had known it the moment his life force left earth, and wished that she hadn't. But she had, she really and truly had, and it had left a gaping hole in her heart and her world. She had wanted more than anything to be where he was, to tell him he didn’t have to die to prove himself. But, then again, she knew also, in some twisted way, that may he had needed it. To die, to really find that redemption and to not live every day in pain and anger and loneliness. Bulma didn’t know much about the afterlife, about the whole heaven and hell spiel. She only knew that, if it had offered Vegeta some peace of mind to know he had done one, totally selfless thing, then she would let him have it, even if it broke her into a million pieces. 

“Hey, Bulma,” Vegeta's gentle, deep voice brought her from the thought she had been sinking into.   
“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, and her worry dissipated almost instantly when she saw the small crease of worry between his eyes. “I’m ok. I would like your answer first, if you wish to give one. If not, then, that’s ok too.”

He paused a moment, hands still clasped in the middle of the small breakfast table, empty coffee cup off to the side near his empty plate. He was looking at his hands, a flash of dismay passing his features before he took in breath slowly, closing his eyes. When he looked up at her again, his eyes were open to her, his posture loose, and Bulma was struck with how unguarded he had become with her since being wished back from the dead. He had never lied to her about anything, so she knew he would tell the truth now.

“I don’t want to wish them back.” He started, the dismay twisting to guilt as he said it. But, quickly, he regained his composure, and a sense of certainty took over instead. “Not that I haven't thought about it. I have. But, it just doesn’t feel right somehow. Like… if I just wished them all back, it would make everything I had to live through….. everything I ever did would be pointless. Everything I destroyed, everyone I killed, every terrifying moment just trying to survive under that sick bastard Frieza, would have all been for nothing. If I wished them back, I would be the biggest disappointment my race has ever seen.”

Bulma suddenly felt tears in her eyes and she stared down into her tan coffee to try and hide it. She knew he hated pity, but she couldn’t bear how he was talking. It had been so long since they talked about real stuff. But, she gathered her courage and looked back up at him, blinking back her tears as she gave him her courage. She wouldn’t falter under his honesty, wouldn’t stumble. She would be there for him just like he had for her since coming back to them.

Vegeta continued, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “So, I cant wish them back. Even with me having changed, at least somewhat, I cant do that. It just doesn’t feel right.” He leaned back, a sad, small smile tugging his usual scowl up just a fraction. He closed his eyes, and she could tell he was imagining his home. “But… Bulma, really, I wish you could see it. You would've loved it.”

He turns away when he smells the salt of her tears, always unsure of how to act in times like this. She was trying so hard to keep it together for him and he fucking admired her for it. She wasn’t a Saiyan, she was just a mortal, human woman. But damn it all if her spirit and courage didn’t scream for his instincts to look at her, to protect her, to claim her. And he had, ten times over, even if he still didn’t understand why she wanted to stay with him. But, he guessed that was alright, because Bulma had told him once that love was usually unreasonable and in-explainable. It was a force to be reckoned with, a weapon that was usually stronger than hatred. He had thought her insane when he first told him that years ago, when she first told him she loved him and he had been so confused because he had always been told love was weakness. Vegeta hadn't understood a damn thing until Majin Buu, until his fight with Kakarot, until Trunks. 

Until Bulma.

He had tried so hard to fight the swelling, bright sun in his chest whenever Bulma was laughing or working, cursing like a Saiyan warrior at her machines and at her friends when they pissed her off. The brightness of it was most painful when she made love to him, and he to her. How her gaze was so heated but so soft, her hands sure and proud and kind, and he didn’t think he would ever hold anything more precious than her. He had been so sure when he sacrificed himself to kill Buu that he would never see her or Trunks again, destined to go to hell forever because of what a horrible man he had become. He had hoped beyond hope that his woman, and his son, would forgive him. For everything. He had his chance to treasure them and he lost it because of his arrogance, his hatred for Kakarot and himself. Mostly himself. But, now that he was back, had been offered a third chance at life, he would not waste it. Not a single moment.

He never knew he needed someone like her. Someone so full of life that it revived his cold, dead heart. He never knew, because he had been taught that he didn’t need anyone. And yet… he needed her. More than he needed or wanted anything in his life. She had saved him. 

So, as she cried quietly, he turned his palms upward on the table, glancing sideways at her. Bulma smiled at the gesture. She set down her cup and slid her palms into his, her skin soft for the most part, tiny scars lacing her fingers from building machines all the time. He closed his own calloused, scarred hands over hers, giving them the most gentle squeeze he could because he sometimes forgot his own strength. She squeezed back. His genius wife.

They sat in silence for a while, just looking out onto the yard and up into the bright blue sky. Vegeta thought he had never felt more at home.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this randomly during some word sprints and when I opened a blank doc, this is what came out! I hope you guys like it! Thank you for reading!


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